


When Autumn Leaves Start to Fall

by kiichu



Series: Revival Oneshots [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiichu/pseuds/kiichu
Summary: Munakata and Sakakura continue to live, but it's not easy. It's just something that happens regardless, like the leaves changing colors every autumn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Munakata's bittersweet "interview" answer about autumn. Here's a translation: http://komaesa.tumblr.com/post/150973100578
> 
> I tend to write Munasaka one-sided, but it can be interpreted any way you like.

_“Jeez… even the trees are dead,” Chisa moaned, her green gaze fixed on a blackened oak above them, its branches jerking out at awkward angles like broken bones. No leaves were in sight, the tips of the bark burned off long ago. A forest once so lustrous and filled with green now stood as an isolated graveyard, the trees playing their own role in the world’s image of destruction and death._

_Sakakura’s fists clenched at his side as he replied. “Yeah, well, autumn's never been the season with the most life. Leaves died every year even before the world went to shit.” His words held a bitter tone to them, a bitterness Kyosuke always thought went deeper than that of the rest of Future Foundation. The boxer tore his gaze from the trees, shooting a glare at the ground instead._

_Kyosuke blinked, wondering just how they went from watching the leaves change colors every fall to dodging man-killing machines in the shapes of mascot-esque bears. When had the three of them stopped laughing completely and began crying themselves to sleep? He often pretended he didn’t hear, pretended that his friends were stronger than him and could hold themselves together, but he knew those were unfair standards. They were all mere children still, naive to the world’s cruelties and forced to grow up too soon._

_Everything had just deteriorated so soon, and like a natural disaster, none of them could stop it or prepare themselves enough. But this was worse than any hurricane or tornado; the death toll kept climbing, the corpses piling up on the streets where the Monokumas ran rampant. All they could do was fight and keep their guards up constantly, narrowly escaping death by the minute._

_Chisa’s thin fingers laced with his and she leaned into him, the support comforting. “I’d love to see the leaves change again. It was so much fun before.”_

_With a sigh, Kyosuke turned his head away, his hand tightening around the katana at his side. “Yes, it was… every season, wasn’t it? This year we couldn’t because there aren’t any trees left. But they will come back, when the world’s on the path to the better.” He closed his eyes solemnly, adding quietly, “When that happens, we’ll return to watch once more. I swear it.”_

_Chisa smiled, the green in her eyes glittering like emeralds. “Then it’s a promise! I hope we can see them soon. I like the red leaves the best!”_

_“Huh? Why red?” Sakakura asked, squinting._

_“Did you think I’d say because they’re your eye color, Sakakura-kun?” Chisa joked, her eyes briefly flicking to Kyosuke as if to gauge his reaction. “Not a chance! Kyosuke is the only man for me~”_

_The boxer tensed, his teeth gnashing together in frustration. “Don’t say stupid things. How can you even look at the color red anymore? Just reminds me of all the blood.” He studied the ground again, as though expecting another body to just fall from a building and splatter in front of him. To be fair, it wasn’t quite an unreasonable possibility._

_Chisa smiled despite his dark words. “I guess… I’d like to see something other than blood associated with the color red.”_

_Kyosuke nodded, understanding her logic. “It makes sense. We’ll return here, then, to this very spot, and see the leaves change from green to red, and to brown, and to orange… Just like we did while in Hope’s Peak.”_

_Sakakura even smirked, a hand patting Kyosuke’s shoulder. “I’m holdin’ you to that then, pal.”_

_“We’ll make more memories!” Chisa exclaimed, giving Kyosuke’s hand a squeeze._

_The warmth of his friends making physical contact with him, however slight, was a comfort Kyosuke knew he couldn’t afford to hold dear - and yet he cherished it all the same. The hope that he held onto so desperately sometimes threatened to slip through his fingers, the pull of despair too strong to ignore._

_But with both Sakakura and Chisa at his side, Kyosuke knew he’d never lose that hope completely. As long as they were here, its flame would never go out._

* * *

Kyosuke often wasted his phone’s limited battery by calling the hospital several times a day, just to make sure that Sakakura was still alive and being taken care of. It came to the point where they’d recognize his number and answer right away, informing him of any changes in the boxer’s condition, if any, and assure him things were going to be fine.

“Sakakura-san was given injections at 11:00 and 19:00 yesterday,” some nurse would tell him, her words sounding practiced and scripted, “Kimura Seiko’s inventory of medicines have worked wonders. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but he is healing nicely.”

Despite not being religious, Kyosuke found himself praying many times during the day, at every moment he caught himself alone with his thoughts. He prayed for Sakakura’s recovery, for Chisa to be at peace, to thank Kimura for being so brilliant with the medicines that saved his friend’s life… Kyosuke prayed for anything and everything - and to _anyone_ \- he could possibly conjure up in his mind.

It was nothing but empty wishing, he knew, mere echoes in his head, but it was comforting all the same. It made him feel less alone, reminding him that soon, things would be better. That  _Sakakura_ would be better. And he found himself realizing that that was the only thing he wanted, the only thing he felt he _needed_ to be given - in spite of the world's tendency to take things away.

And it wasn't for his own sake, but Sakakura's. That man deserved to get better the most out of their original group of three.

* * *

As time went on, Sakakura didn’t need two injections a day, and was cut down to one. Once he was able to thrive with one, they weaned him off the medicine altogether - and while that didn’t go over well at first, the man’s system did rebuild itself thanks to Kimura’s concoctions, and the hospital’s reports grew more positive and less monotone by the day.

Sakakura was a difficult patient, that much was obvious, but he was in very good shape, and his strength allowed him to pull through his terrible injuries in the end. Sheer strength wasn’t the only thing, of course - _luck_ also played a part, a luck that rivaled the Super High School Level of Naegi Makoto.

But perhaps it was even more than that, Kyosuke reasoned. Perhaps, just this once, fate was smiling down on them. Not on Kyosuke himself, as he didn’t deserve fortune like that, but on Sakakura. The man had been nothing but loyal and despite feeling betrayed and abandoned, he’d nearly given his life for the remaining players in the Killing Game.

Out of everyone there, Sakakura was the one who deserved to live the most. If Kirigiri Kyoko could survive against all the odds stacked against her, so could Sakakura. And survive they both did - despite everything, Kyosuke and Naegi had been rewarded their loved ones in the end.

Kyosuke swore he’d never let Sakakura suffer to that point he’d seen him reach again. Watching his friend leave the building as he did - half-dead on a stretcher and using a respirator to force shuddering breaths through his bloodied lungs - had frightened Kyosuke to say the least, making an overwhelming desire to _protect_ the other man burn in his heart.

It had always been the other way around, but now Kyosuke would dedicate his life to keeping Sakakura safe - to keep the hope between the two of them burning brightly.

This was, of course, assuming Sakakura would want anything to do with him once he awoke. And for weeks, while the boxer recovered in the intensive care unit of the nearest functional hospital, Kyosuke worried that he would no longer be wanted. And of course, if things turned out like that, he could not place any blame on Sakakura - that was the most _logical_ choice, after all - and would merely mean Kyosuke himself was responsible for what happened, and needed to bear that burden for the rest of his life.

Facing the world alone frightened him for so long, but eventually he made his peace with it, reasoning that Sakakura being alive was more than enough, and he was eternally grateful for that.

However, somewhat predictably, Sakakura hadn’t cast him aside. When he finally regained consciousness, the first thing Sakakura did was ask about _Kyosuke’s_ well-being. The man was missing an arm and almost lost the proper use of his stomach, and he was worried about his friend’s scarred eye.

It made Kyosuke feel so utterly disgusting - how could he ever measure up to Sakakura’s benevolence? Self-loathing and regret churned his stomach, the emotions so intense that he almost had to leave the room, but he stood his ground. Any other choice would be unfair to Sakakura.

So instead of running away, he’d taken a deep breath, bowed his head as low as he could manage, and apologized his heart out.

“Don’t say things that are out of character for you,” Sakakura had said, an uncomfortableness in his crimson gaze. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about what happened, about Kyosuke’s wrong choices in the Killing Game, and the most he responded with was a quiet, “...thank you, all the same, for being here.”

Instead of continuing his apologies, Kyosuke had told him everything, recounting how he’d run as fast as his legs could take him to the power control room, all in the hope that he’d find Sakakura alive and make amends. He said that he’d thought the man was dead - who wouldn’t, in that situation? - and apologized, eventually leaving without hearing the faint wheezes pushing through Sakakura’s lips. He’d been so focused on his own misery, so adamant to begin his life of regret and self-hatred, that he hadn’t even noticed that there was more hope around him than he’d realized.

Back when he’d first learned of Sakakura’s survival, the very _second_ Naegi Makoto had told him the news, Kyosuke’s heart nearly stopped. His world had gained so much light and hope all at once after that - especially since he’d been in the dark for so long - it was almost difficult to even _see_ clearly at first.

He hadn’t stopped calling the hospital, not even after Sakakura had woken. After nearly losing his best friend, he needed to be _sure_ the man would be okay.

And if there was anything Kyosuke could do for Sakakura, he would do it. He tried not to fuss, but it was difficult when he had only one person left.

They both did, now - once more, they were orphaned in an uncertain future, this time without Chisa.

* * *

When the boxer was well enough to be awake for more than a few minutes, he made sure to visit as much as possible, sometimes for hours at a time. In fact, when Kyosuke wasn’t hogging up the hospital’s phone lines, he was by Sakakura’s side, reporting on the state of the world post-Killing Game, and how things were getting better by the day. Like some sort of fairy tale penned by a gothic writer, all the pain and loss they’d suffered had paved the way for an unexpectedly bright future.

Things were by no means normal, but they were better - and while Kyosuke still had to deal with the aftermath of so many deaths, he was glad he had at least one of his two closest friends still with him.

Sakakura slowly regained the use of his legs, managing to stumble around like a fawn for the first few days (much to the boxer’s annoyance). As he watched him grit his teeth, sucking in air and wincing in pain at every movement, Kyosuke’s guilt grew that much larger.

It wasn’t right that Sakakura had to go through all of this agony, all of the physical therapy and loss of a limb, when he hadn’t even done anything wrong. The man was completely innocent, and had followed every order Kyosuke had given, even if he expressed prior disagreement. Juzo Sakakura was just such a loyal and selfless man; it wasn’t _fair_ that things turned out to be like this.

More than anything, Kyosuke wanted to be the one in the hospital bed right now, unable to move more than a few steps without assistance. He wanted to be the one who was dealing with more than just emotional wounds - he wanted to take Sakakura’s pain away and bear it for himself, because God knew he deserved it the most.

But he couldn’t, so he had to watch his friend’s suffering as though he didn’t play a direct part in causing it. More than that, he was the _main source_ of it all, and was forced to stand by and witness the price other people had to pay for his own thoughtless mistakes.

It made him absolutely _sick._

* * *

“Ghost pains, they call it,” Sakakura had hissed one day, when the sky outside was bluer than it had been and he hadn’t cringed in pain for at least two hours. The boxer stared at the spot where his left hand should’ve been, his gaze glued to the air around the _stump_ his arm became.

“It’s like it’s still _there_ sometimes, like I can feel my fingers and everything. But then I look down and it’s missing.” The man’s crimson eyes narrowed further into slits and a film of tears pooled underneath, but nothing slipped down his cheeks.

Kyosuke had noticed that the painkillers had made his friend much more emotional - by means of almost crying at times and laughing at nothing - or, perhaps, it was merely the trauma of the Killing Game that made him so unstable. They all were plagued with terrors, he knew - every single one of the survivors received chronic nightmares as a prize.

They were the _winners_ , and despite still having their lives, still felt they’d lost the most.

But despite the medicine or mental trauma, it was easy to tell just how saddened Sakakura was by his lost limb. He did his best to brush it off, but Kyosuke saw right through his act. More than that, he swore he could feel a fraction of the same pain, his own left hand’s fingers tingling slightly.

Without a word, he placed his hand over Sakakura’s remaining one, his lips drawn into a tight frown. How could he possibly relay the amount of inner torment he was feeling over this? It was Sakakura’s choice to cut off his hand, but he’d done it for _Kyosuke’s_ sake - that much was certain.

And it just _wasn’t right_. Why would Sakakura do something like that for someone who tossed him away in the end? Like he was complete garbage, like Sakakura _wasn’t_ someone who meant the world to Kyosuke, like he wasn’t one of the _two_ close friends he’d ever had.

Sakakura’s fingers curled around his own and the man lowered his head, screwing his eyes shut as though in pain. Kyosuke was about to ask him if he wanted a nurse before Sakakura cut him off.

“I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret it, since it got you out,” he’d said, his voice low and hoarse. “I just… I wish there was some way to get it back.” The stump on his left arm twitched as though he’d meant to clench the fingers that weren’t there.

Kyosuke squeezed his friend’s right hand further, his lips pressed into a tight line. His mind raced with possible solutions, recalling everything he’d learned since escaping the Killing Game.

An image of one particular Remnant of Despair flashed in his mind, and his eye widened slightly. “Maybe there is,” he murmured, unable to believe his own words. “I have an idea, but… I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“Isn’t that what it’s always been about? Hope? False or not, it’s hope, isn’t it?” Sakakura scoffed. “ _Naegi Makoto_ sure can’t tell the difference.”

“Indeed,” Kyosuke agreed. “The boy believes in hope blindly, that’s true.”

Sakakura snorted. “Kid’s got a complex or some shit.”

There was a brief pause between them, and Kyosuke couldn’t help but let out a slight chuckle that broke the silence. The words were tactless enough to sound like Sakakura, and for the first time in ages, he thought he could catch a glimpse of who they used to be.

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, mouth stretched to a tiny smile. “Perhaps he can give us some lessons. That hope did do some good in the end, after all.” His expression grew warmer as he squeezed Sakakura’s hand, indicating that he wouldn’t trade what had been returned to him for the world.

 _Any_ version of the world.

The bedridden man stared back at him, his face flushed slightly while sporting a lopsided grin of his own.

* * *

In the end, Kyosuke had tracked down the ship carrying the Remnants of Despair and located the Super High School Level Mechanic. With some… _gentle_ persuasion, the pink-haired young man was able to craft a metal hand for Sakakura, just like he had made for his classmate, Komaeda Nagito.

Kyosuke felt strange being indebted to a Despair - but he supposed that, given how the Ultimate Imposter had fought at his side and saved him from a shower of bullets, he already was. It wasn’t much of a big deal, just a funny feeling; he could deal with those confusing emotions, of course. Sakakura would have a hand to box, to fight, to _use_ again.

When the hospital announced a discharge date for Sakakura, the two of them were ecstatic. Sakakura’s health would still need to be closely monitored, and he’d have to have a special diet for a while, but ultimately, things were looking up.

“It’s getting colder,” Sakakura grumbled, and Kyosuke noted the pile of blankets covering his hospital bed, an increased number due to the changing months. The boxer was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the heater was on in his room (thank god for the Ultimate HVAC Tech, honestly). Kyosuke himself had chosen to wear an extra layer, huddling into his coat while outside to avoid the chill of the changing season.

“Yes… I believe the last day of summer was yesterday.” Or perhaps not - Kyosuke couldn’t tell the days apart anymore, and they became difficult to pick out in the giant blur of time. But he was fairly certain that summer had just ended, the temperature growing colder by the day.

“Shit… then I’ve been stuck here longer than I thought,” Sakakura groaned, running a hand through his hair. “And I know it’ll be tough having a right-hand man with only a _real_ right hand, but… I’ll get back in the game. And once I do, what do you want me to do?” Flexing his metal fingers, the boxer peered to look at the weather outside before turning to his friend. His eyes were clearer by the day as he healed, the fierce loyalty returning to his gaze.

Old habits die hard, it seemed, as the boxer was still looking to Kyosuke for orders. But it didn’t work that way anymore - they were on the same level now. Perhaps they had always been on equal footing, or that Sakakura greatly surpassed him on a moral standpoint, and Kyosuke just refused to acknowledge it. Regardless, the white-haired man shook his head and leaned forward in the hospital chair, a frown still fixed on his face.

“I don’t want you to do anything _you_ don’t want to do,” he explained, his voice trembling. “Sakakura, me giving you orders… that time has passed now. We are equals.” He didn’t dare order his friend around any longer - what kind of man would he be otherwise? That would prove he didn’t learn from his mistakes, didn’t learn that using his best friend like a meat shield or a meaningless sacrifice _perhaps_ wasn’t the smartest idea.

And if he never learned anything, Kyosuke knew he’d never be able to grow as a person. He’d never grow past his sins, and the man he was when he committed them.

But Sakakura always looked at him with warmth, with such fierce devotion that it was almost difficult to look at sometimes. Like a twisted mirror that only showed what he thought were his good points, but turned out to be flaws in the end.

This time was no exception, his eyes unwavering and dedicated, but there was a mixture of something else in the crimson gaze, as well. Kyosuke didn’t want to go looking for something in his friend that wasn’t there, but he swore he caught traces of sadness, too - if only slight.

“Well, then, let me ask something else. You say the world’s getting a little better, right?” Sakakura asked.

It was true, the world was looking much better after years of despair. The dark influence of despair was strong of course, lingering in the hearts of those still alive like another symptom of survivor’s guilt. At the very least, Enoshima continued to haunt Kyosuke, her twin-pigtailed silhouette following him, flickering in and out as though illuminated by lightning strikes.

Still, even though her monstrous, bloody footprints hadn’t left the soil, her corpse was feeding the worms and fertilizing flowers. It was poetic, really - after the Final Killing Game, it became apparent that the sun really was clearly setting on despair, and a brightened path had been paved for hope.

It would take tremendous effort to live on, but Kyosuke was willing if Sakakura was (and given his miraculous survival, it was obvious he was, on some level, persevering).

“Yes, that’s correct,” Kyosuke replied with a nod. “Things are on their way to improvement, at the very least.”

“So what do _you_ want to do right now, Munakata?”

The question caught Kyosuke off-guard, but the answer didn’t hesitate to settle in his mind. Sakakura’s choice of words were the floodgates that let memories flow freely, a voice of someone now long gone echoing in his mind like she was still right next to him.

_“We’ll make more memories!”_

“I have an idea,” Kyosuke admitted, a small smile settling onto his lips.

* * *

“Munakata, I said I’m _fine_ ,” Sakakura groaned, trying to push away any support. The man was stronger than he’d been, but still weakened overall. This was the first time he’d been allowed to leave the hospital, though, so that was proof enough of his progress.

Sakakura still continued to shy away from Kyosuke’s touch, squirming and lightly shoving at the body pressed against him. The boxer had insisted that he didn’t need help walking - that he lost a hand, not a foot - but he still looked like he was struggling, prompting Kyosuke to grab his wrist and wrap a hand around his side.

“I’m sure you are, but I want to be completely certain,” Kyosuke insisted, merely smiling politely and waiting for his firey friend to settle.

And, predictably, Sakakura did eventually give up his efforts and let himself be helped along, his complaining dying down to grumbles. Kyosuke didn’t mean to be so pushy, but he was not risking losing him - not ever again. If he had to fuss, he _would_.

So the two of them hobbled along, passing burnt buildings and rubble, to reach a familiar site: a bit down the road from Hope’s Peak, past a long stretch of shops that were little more than ashes now, was a park.

Not just any park, of course. Kyosuke and Sakakura could have chosen a closer park to the hospital, surely, but this one was particularly special to the two of them. Back in their high school days, when they were but innocent students with talents, they’d visited the very same park with Chisa. Year-round, they’d spent time amongst the forest of trees and well-kept gardens, a small escape to nature in the middle of a bustling city.

Chisa had discovered it first; when they were first-years, she’d taken her two closest friends to the park to watch the leaves change from summer to autumn. At the time, Kyosuke had no interest in the scenery, even finding it boring at times.

It was the same every year, the leaves dying from the cold and falling from the trees to decorate the ground. Kyosuke even found it a bit morbid to celebrate nature perishing in such a way, but he learned quickly that Chisa never thought in that way. She was an optimist, a true visionary - looking back, her positivity ended up being one of the biggest sources for Kyosuke’s own hope.

Her warm presence affected those around her, and her simple desire to make memories spread to her friends. Before they realized it, both Kyosuke and Sakakura found themselves eager to watch the leaves every autumn, and it was a tradition for them every day after classes. They’d note the differences in colors, and somehow Chisa could predict exactly which ones were going to fall next.

The path to the park was a shell of what it once was, the shops all torn up and crumbled.

They passed the old coffee shop, where a sign with pink cursive letters had once hung, not even the ‘C’ in the title preserved from the catastrophe. A tabby cat used to sit on the window from the inside; Kyosuke imagined it peering at the two of them through the rubble, its tail swishing back and forth curiously.

Chisa had once mentioned going on a date there. Sakakura had growled that he felt like a third wheel in that conversation, and she had just giggled.

The arcade used to be bustling with kids after school, the sounds of beeps, blasts, and the clinks of tokens by far the loudest on the street. Kyosuke saw the ghostly images of the children playing, watched them run past him and Sakakura quickly, eager to beat a high score or earn enough tickets for something new.

Now, all that remained were a few broken arcade machines, and Kyosuke couldn’t tell if the shreds of stuffing on the ground originated from Monokumas or innocent claw machine prizes.

They walked by a convenience store, the old shopkeeper greeting them with a smile. Kyosuke grinned back at her, wondering just what she’d think now of the students who used to pass by her store every day. There were only two now, of course, and the presence of innocent adolescence had shriveled up too quickly.

Such a shame, though; her store was completely gone now, pieces of the foundation the only things left standing.

Sakakura was silent as they walked, and Kyosuke wondered if he was also indulging in the bittersweet nostalgia. Memories were often painful things, yes, but it was almost too tempting not to think of them sometimes. The two of them had a _lot_ of memories on this particular street, as well, so reminiscing silently wasn’t too strange.

“Looks terrible,” the boxer finally growled. “The moment we get clearances to rebuild, I say we pick this shit up.” His eyes narrowed, as though he could pick up all the broken buildings just by glaring at them.

“We’re both a bit biased, but I agree,” Kyosuke replied, shaking his head with a slight smirk. “I’m sure Chisa would have appreciated it, too.”

Sakakura snorted. “She’d probably be still tryin’ to get that date with you at the goddamn coffee shop.”

Ah, so he had been reliving the memories, after all. Kyosuke couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle; despite the grim surroundings, despite the many ghosts and debris they passed, the tone was kept light between them - or, rather, lighter than it had been for a while.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, the rest of the shops on the street not looking much different than the first few. Their youth had gone up in flames, the buildings they’d spent so much time around destroyed and crumbled to pieces.

Kyosuke heaved a quiet sigh of relief once they made it past the street and turned the corner, the familiar arching sign of the park visible in the distance. The metal was rusted through and the letters were burned off long ago, but there was no mistaking where they were.

Sakakura’s wrist was still in Kyosuke’s grasp, allowing him to feel the man’s pulse speed up at the sight. His eye flicked over to his friend, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in comfort. Whether Sakakura was nervous or excited, Kyosuke wanted to share the emotion, and share any burdens that came his way.

“We really haven’t been here in forever, have we?” Sakakura breathed, his voice a low rasp. “At least the place is still standing…” By his expression, he didn’t look happy at the state of the park, but he was right - at least it was _still here_ to return to.

Kyosuke pursed his lips as he kept guiding his friend forward. “It’s certainly looked better, that’s for sure.”

A snort was his response, because what he’d said was too _obvious_ to not be humorous.

They quickly passed through the park entrance, noting the state it was in. The trees that were once so vibrant and always swaying in the breeze were stiff skeletons now - mere macabre reminders of nature’s decay due to the despair outbreak.

Despite the shifting tone of the world, the sky was still darkened, the ground cracked and torn, and the air polluted. It would take _years_ for things to return to a _fraction_ of the state they had been in before the Tragedy - before any bit of nature could start looking like a healthy part of human life again.

The two of them walked slowly, as though through a graveyard, and eventually stopped below the tallest tree. Kyosuke swallowed hard, tightening his grip around his friend before he could even dare to look up. Worries churned through his veins, making him wonder if the tree he promised he’d return to see had been damaged beyond repair.

“Heh. Look at that, Munakata,” Sakakura pointed out, breaking through Kyosuke’s anxiety. “Seems things are starting to grow back, after all.” The man’s lips curled into a small smirk as he lifted his head, an abnormal gentleness in his eyes.

Kyosuke found himself admiring the peacefulness in Sakakura’s red gaze - he seemed more relaxed than he had in _years_. Perhaps just the two of them being here, standing alive, was enough to keep Sakakura in good spirits.

If that was the case, Kyosuke could stand to think that way, too. Hope bred hope, didn’t it?

After closing his eye and taking a deep breath to prepare himself, he finally managed to raise his head to look.

And it was just as Sakakura said; the largest tree in the park - the very same one they’d returned to after the Tragedy to check on, only to find it’d become a skeleton of itself - still stood above them, branches more brown than black this time around. What was most surprising, however, was the smallest bits of leaves on the edges of the tree’s branches; they were mere buds that didn’t quite blossom into full leaves, but it was still proof of growth.

Kyosuke found the tension in his expression fade at the sight, a warmth spreading through his body. It was enough to know that things were improving, and even more comforting to realize it was healing.

The tree had been through so much despair and pain, but it was _healing_ despite everything - just like Kyosuke. Just like _Sakakura_.

He gently set his friend down and sat down next to him, their shoulders brushing as they gazed upwards at the branches overhead.

He imagined Chisa sitting next to them, the same bright smile on her face. Despite the despair that had been her downfall in the end, that warm image would outshine who she’d died as. That warmth would forever stay with him.

The undying love he received from his friends… Kyosuke didn’t quite understand what he’d done to deserve it (if he ever did deserve it at all). But if he had learned anything from the Killing Game, it was that he could _never_ take things for granted.

Admiration swelled in his chest as he looked to Sakakura again. The boxer stared back after a few moments in confusion, a brow quirked and head slightly tilted, but Kyosuke merely smiled gently in return.

“What?” Sakakura asked, his face flushing as he tore his eyes away.  

“Ah, it’s just…” Kyosuke’s voice trailed off, his mind trying to conjure up the words. “I’ve done so much to hurt you, but you still survived. You’re… so much stronger than me. I’m glad.” He was so grateful Sakakura had such amazing strength - both physically and mentally.

Sakakura’s nose scrunched up. “Again with this? I told you, I was never that mad, really - I deserved it.”

The words made his heart sink again, and Kyosuke shook his head in protest. “Please - I don’t know why you keep saying that, but it’s not true.”

“You’d change your mind if you knew what I did.”

Closing his eye, Kyosuke muttered, “You lied about Enoshima. I know.”

“...then _why_ I did it.”

“I doubt it could surprise me, or make me angry at this point. Chisa was a despair, and she didn’t deserve death. Whatever made you lie to me… I’ve already forgiven you for it.”

He had immense suspicions that Sakakura was lying the moment he’d let that monster off the hook - and, in the Final Killing Game, he’d been fed Tengan’s lies and assumed the man had been in despair like Chisa. But those accusations were false in the end, and Sakakura had almost died for a crime he didn’t commit. He was never in despair, and Kyosuke had abandoned him like trash.

Even if he’d lied about Enoshima, that didn’t justify what Kyosuke had done to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, emotions getting to the better of him once again. “I’m so _sorry_.” He found his head being leaned onto Sakakura’s shoulder, almost like a magnet had guided it there.

After a few tense moments of silence, Sakakura moved to gently rest his head on top of Kyosuke’s, a soft sigh leaving the boxer. “It’s okay. _I’ve_ already forgiven _you_ , too.”

He didn’t feel he earned forgiveness, of course, but he didn't dare argue. Despite being undeserving of such reconciliation, the warmth of his friend’s touch once more brought him an unspeakable comfort. And that feeling was enough.

“You have every right to tell me you never want to see me again,” Kyosuke pointed out, “and I’d understand. Completely.”

Sakakura merely chuckled. “Well, you can quit that talk, because I’m not goin’ anywhere. So looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Then I guess that’s settled.” Kyosuke dropped the subject, realizing that Sakakura was more than he deserved, but still stayed by his side nonetheless. For that, he was eternally grateful - more than Sakakura would ever know.

He smiled, his eyes lifting to watch the tree’s branches sway slightly in the light autumn breeze. Sakakura mirrored his actions, and a quiet tranquility fell between them.

“Think there’s gonna be actual leaves anytime soon?” The boxer murmured.

“The buds won’t produce real leaves for a while, but when they do…”

Sakakura cut him off. “Yeah, I already know this one - we’ll come back to this very spot and see the leaves change again.”

“We’ll do more than _that,_  Sakakura,” Kyosuke scoffed, a light smirk on his face. He could practically hear Chisa respond with him, echoing his voice. “We’ll make more memories.”

As he continued to study the sight above them, Kyosuke caught his gaze on something so out of place amongst the death in the area. It was so particularly bizarre that it felt as though it had been planted there by someone or something, though he knew that wasn’t possible.

Hanging onto the tree’s largest branch, extended way over their heads like a guardian angel, was a single red leaf.


End file.
